Insp. #HarringroveWeek Day 2

I have just learned that Mountain Goats are NOT, in fact, actual Goats.

♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either. 

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck. 

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right? 

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked. 

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him. 

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor. 

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies. 

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything. 

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you. 

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face. 

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember. 

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex. 

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either. 

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault. 

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs. 

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

Thinking about either yanderes who

Tw:noncon, kidnapping, yandere

-tie you up, force you on their laps while laughing and holding your jaw open, admiring your tears as they bounce you on their lap. They revel as you sob and have difficulty maintaining eye contact while they spit obscenities at you, dark and threatening statements that wrack your body with intense sobs and heaving gasps

“You’re mine. Don’t ever forget that”

“You need me to drill it into your cunt or your head? Both? Fuck sweetheart, you shoulda told me sooner”

“I’ll kill anyone who looks at you, and then fuck you over their body. You hear me slut? Nod, fucking nod if you understand me. Or are you too brain-dead from cock?”

“I dare you to try and escape. You’ll only make jt more fun for me to put you back in your place, underneath me”

“Beg me to slap you. Go on, beg for it. Aww, what’s the matter, why’re you crying cutie? Is it too much?”

They imitate your moans, their eyes dark and glinting as they mock your whimpers and protruding tongue. It sounds worse coming from their mouths, all high pitched and whiny. You probably sound worse, but it’s the least you can worry about as they slap your sore tits and fuck you so hard your whole body moves up with the force.

They lean in when they’re close, growling in your ear and causing goosebumps to erupt over your arms as they croon,

“You gonna cum? Huh? Cum for me, cream all over this dick you useless bitch”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck that’s it, you like bouncing? You like riding me like this? I know you do, and that’s what you’re gonna do the rest of your life. ARENT I nice? Say it. Fucking say you love me unless you want a shock collar around your throat the rest of your life.”

You’re terrified, of course, your wails useless and your pleas rendered incomprehensible as they have their way with you, daring you to act out so they can correct you for it

-But then on the other hand, we have those lovey dovey yanderes who simply sing your praise and beg for you to love them.

You’re still tied up, but they hug you close, and want you to make eye contact with them so they can see your beautiful eyes. They wanna see the color shine in them as they deliver the utmost pleasure they can for you.

It hurts their heart physically when you cower and shake your head, your gaze unable to meet his.

His eyes are glassy too now as he holds back light sobs at your fear

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please forgive me but I can’t hold back. You’re too perfect, can you understand that my love?”

“Please just look at me. I’m not trying to hurt you, I love you, you know that right?”

His questions, while not rhetorical, are unanswered as you continue to whimper in terror and try to turn in on yourself.

So he opts to be more direct and frank with you. If you won’t listen to his desperate love, then he’ll have to succumb to a more Daddy-like approach. After all, that is what he wants to be for you. A caretaker, your lover. Not a captor for you to hide away from when he just wants to find solace in your embrace after a long day.

He pushes a hand against your back and pressed himself chest to chest against you, driving his cock slow and deep into you, doing his best to hit that special spot when you writhe more than usual.

“I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” He growls in your ear, trying to mask his cracking voice with a firm grip on your tits.

It makes him harder to hear you gasp, but all the same his heart breaks as you tremble and bite your lip, sporting that adorable pout that signals a fresh new wave of barely-concealed sobs.

“You’re mine, and no one’s gonna hurt you. Anything you want, anything you need, say the name and I’ll reward you with it. All I want from you is your love.”

He softly yet firmly grips the base of your head and tugs lightly on your hair, pulling you back slightly to look at him.

“Just-just stay here w-with me and that’s all I want.”

18+

⋆ ★ You weren't even a fan, but here you were fucking the band's drummer in his tour bus. <3

Pairing: band!rafe x fem!reader

(a/n: posting this so y'all don't think I passed away😍😍😍 ps: I imagine rafe being a pouge in this. )

"For fuck sakes Cameron! Would'ja unlock the goddamn door?!" JJ, the bands guitarist struck the bus door as if it been his electric guitar.

"I'm coming, hold your horses!" Rafe yelled back, his voice muffled by the thick door. You could picture him rolling his eyes and a smirk playing on his lips. "Just giving our guest here the grand tour."

The bus fell silent for a moment--beside from the squelching slick of your cunt--and you could almost feel the confused glances being exchanged between JJ and Pope. Then, a loud groan reverberated through the door.

"You mean to tell me you brought a groupie on board? We have another show in a few hours, Rafe! This isn't the time for your extracurricular activities." Pope, their bassist, voice carried a hint of frustration and concern.

"Oh, shut up, Hayward. It's not what you and Maybank think," Rafe retorted, his hand still gripping possessively on your hip, his cock slotting in and out your sopping wet cunt. "Open the damn door and see for yourself!"

"It's locked you asshole!" You heard Pope quip, causing Rafe to laugh like the little shit he was.

"Oh yeah, guess you'll have to wait then!" Rafe shouted.

You wondered if they could hear you--the little whimpers that laced your lips at every rock of Rafe's hips--as you had heard them but actively decided to ignore them. 

"Rafe hurry up." you whined, tilting your head back to rest on Rafe's shoulder. "They're waiting."

"You think I give a shit about them waiting?" he asked you, his rocking movement stilling for a moment, and because you didn't want the pleasure to end, you quickly shook your head 'no.' 

Rafe had you bent over the tour bus dining table, your leg hitched upon the carbon steel, as he gave it to you from the back, repeatedly.

Your leather skirt and bra were bunched at your waist, and your shirt was on the ground somewhere. Rafe's impatience had torn the fishnets you had on earlier to shreds. 

You felt Rafe's hands grip your hips tighter, pulling you back onto him with each thrust. The table dug into your stomach, a contrast to the pleasure that pulsed through you.

The tour bus's windows had been tinted, but you could feel the eyes of the other band members on you, cupping their hands to the glass, but you didn't care. 

This was always how it was after a show for Rafe—the rush of performing, the need to let go, and the freedom of the open road, and the girls, girls, girls!

Rafe had realized he'd been a lucky man because every night after his band had done a set, there would be a queue of girls waiting to do whatever he said. 

He'd fucked girls in the East and the Midwest, and the South that had pretty decent pussy, but the girls in the West pussies never seemed to fail Rafe--like yours per se. 

Rafe breath was hot against your ear, his desire matching your own; Rafe almost wanted to kiss you. 

You pulsed around his cock at the sensation.

Fuck, did Rafe love your pussy, he really did.

"You'resofuckingwarm." Rafe words jumbled. 

Your cunt was the type of warmth you'd feel after being outside in the cold all day or, as Rafe imagined, the type of warmth you get from hugging a dead loved one, per se, like his mother. 

A moan escaped your lips as Rafe's tip hit a particularly sensitive spot, and you knew you were close.

The bus bounced slightly with each of Rafe's eager movements, a rhythm that matched the pounding in your chest.

The sight of your heart-shaped ass backing into Rafe's pelvis--equally as eager as him to reach your peak--almost made Rafe say, "fuck it." and let you make an honest man out of him. 

You wanted to prolong this moment, but the pleasure was too much.

"I'm close," you panted, your voice hoarse with need.

Rafe's response was a low growl, his hips snapping faster, driving you further towards the edge.

Rafe's hands then switched from gripping your hips to both his hands, palming your plush breast and forcefully pushing you back on his cock, causing the table to creak beneath your weight, the sound adding to the erotic symphony of the moment. 

And then, with one final, deep thrust, you cried out, your body shaking as pleasure washed over you.

"Ah, fuck." you panted. "Fuck." your head was spinning. It felt like someone had just put your brain in a blender, and pressed start--metaphorically speaking.

Rafe followed a hoarse groan tearing from his throat as he found his release, his cock twitching inside for every stride of his cum.

For a moment, you both stayed still, catching your breath. Then, with a soft laugh, Rafe pulled out and turned you to face him.

And you were pretty too?! Rafe had thought to himself, because this was the first time he ever really saw your face that wasn't in the dark bar light.

Rafe was glad that he hadn't been drunk or high in the moment, because he could see himself now getting down on one knee and popping the big question.

Rafe had watched you get yourself back together, he handed you you're discarded shirt on the floor, and then asked:

"Can I see you again?"

You took the shirt from Rafe, feeling a mix of emotions. On the one hand, you were flattered by his apparent attraction; on the other, you knew your personalities were likely incompatible. "I'm not much of a groupie," you replied with a small smile. 

Rafe couldn't help but burst out laughing at your response. "Well, I guess I'll just have to settle for this one unforgettable fuck then," he joked.

"Rafe it's just that--" you paused. "I know your type. You're the type to hit it and quit it, right? Leave girls once you get sick of them?"

"Funny, I didn't take you as a tabloid junkie. You shouldn't believe everything the magazines say, y'know?" Rafe said with that boyish charm of him--the same charm that landed you getting fucked in the back of his tour bus.

You laughed, a rich, full sound that surprised you both. "Fair enough," you conceded, slipping your shirt back on.

"But I'm serious, Rafe. I'm not looking for a fling, and I don't want to be another notch on your bedpost." You paused, considering your next words carefully. "I like you, and this was… incredible. But I'm not sure we're meant for anything more."

Rafe's face softened, and he took your hand in his. "Hey, I get it. I've got a reputation, and it's not exactly a good one." He squeezed your hand gently. "But maybe, just maybe, we could try something different? Something real?" His eyes searched yours, and you could see the sincerity in them.

You bit your lip, torn between your better judgment and the pull you felt towards this enigmatic man.

"Sorry, cowboy. My 'no playboys' policy is firm," you playfully jested, causing Rafe to flash a grin.

"Oh, really?" he responded, drawing you closer. "I suppose I'll have to sway your opinion then."

"I suppose you will."

And with that, time would tell if he could win you over or not.

in so deep

premise: you’d have a dozen kids if it meant steve kept fucking you like this.

pairing: steve harrington x (f)reader

word count: 495

warnings: eighteen+ content, porn without plot, unprotected piv, breeding kink, dirty talk, slight possessiveness, f receiving oral mentioned, talks of steve and his six lil nuggets.

etc: literally just wanted to write something absolutely filthy and feral for steve, that’s all, that’s it.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

Your legs rest in the crook of his arms as Steve fucks you slow and deep, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside of you that usually hurts, that has the pain outweighing the pleasure and makes your body retreat. But right now, with the way his hips are rolling just right, so fucking slow and gentle, it feels so good.

Your nails dig into the sides of his arms, his mouth on yours. His words are filthy and make your cheeks burn from more than just the heat from your bodies pressed together—from the pleasure.

“Hmm?” Steve hums against your lips, trails a kiss down to your chin to nip at it. “What would you do, baby. If tonight was the night I finally filled you so full that it took?” His breath is heavy, grunts deep, eyes keep closing from the pleasure, strands of his hair falling into your face. “You’d never be able to leave me then, would always have a part of me with you, be mine forever.”

The noises coming from your throat make it burn, your moans weak and whimpering. His words making your stomach flutter with something sickly pleasurable and possessive.

You knew all about Steve’s dream of six lil’ nuggets. Of sharing a life with you, with wanting it so bad. The act of it finally happening more pleasurable than the thought. That maybe this time would be it, that that silly little dream would become a reality, that the perfect mix of you and him would be running around in nine months time.

There’s been several nights, spontaneous occasions when Steve’s bent you over a table, a counter, the hood of his car, telling you how pretty you’d look full of him in your dresses—those pair of panties that would look so much better stained with his come as you walked around with him leaking out of you.

Has even spent time between your legs after he’s come inside your cunt to suck at your clit and fuck you with his fingers to push his seed back into you. The filthy squelching from his mouth, your wetness, and him dripping out of you sinfully obscene.

“Don’t move, fuuuck, stay right there,” he would moan when you’re ontop of him, after he’s come inside of you. Hands on either side of your neck to pull your forehead to his, your knees in a tight lock around his waist. “Keep me inside of you, soak it up, baby.”

You’d have a dozen kids if it meant Steve kept fucking you like this—like that. Feeling his breaths against your skin, his groans above you. The gleam of passion and want and need in his eyes as he looked down at you.

“Beg me for it, baby, please.” Steve’s voice sounds weak, thrusts picking up. “Tell me how bad you want me to come inside of you, how bad you want to be mine forever,” he groans desperately.

— 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒍.

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“I think I’m in love.”

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: you’re new at hawkins high, and the hellfire club practically kneel at your feet.

warnings: language, fluff to the max. just short and sweet:)

a/n: i’m turning this into a series! part two is here

This feeling, this one right here, was the worst. There you stood, front of the cafeteria, tray in your hands as you observed the crowd. You could see each cliché friend group at each table. Towards the left, were the jocks and their cheerleader girlfriends. There were students who held instruments and taped up glasses. There were a few tables that barely had anyone sitting there, a couple quiet kids. On the right, were the students who actually gave a damn about grades, their books cracked open as they studied mid-chew.

Having Military parents was difficult for you, especially with the constant moving. If anything, it was the worst thing about it. Any friends you made were short lived, so as the years went on and you got older, you purposely tried to avoid making friends. Your eyes then settled on a table that made you curios. You’d never heard of that cliché group before. Hellfire club?

It was a group of boys, chattering away with smiling faces and waving their hands in dramatics. Oh well, you thought, and made your way toward their table.

“So, instead of finding a sub for him, you want to postpone?”

“Just for the week! Just until the championships are over!”

“Oh no, I see how it is. Sinclair has obviously been taken in by the dark side,”

“Can I sit here?”

Eddie, and the rest of his hellfire crew’s eyes immediately snapped to the sound of your voice, widening at you, a girl, who stood at the end of the table. “Uh, sorry?” Mike gulped.

You grew red at the obvious disturbance that you had caused, swallowing roughly. “Sorry, it’s just- well, I’m new here and I wondered if I could- but it’s okay! I’ll just-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie snapped his fingers, turning the spotlight on him. “Here.” He patted the seat next to him, shoving Dustin over one. “Forgive us our manners, my lady, it’s not everyday a creature as…lovely as you graces us with your presence.” You chuckled awkwardly, sitting down next to him as you glanced at everyone.

“Thank you.” You nodded to everyone. “I’m y/n.”

“Eddie.” He held out his hand for you to shake, leaning on his other elbow with a curious gleam in his eye. He was trying to sniff you out, because no woman ever just sat with them. Surely, you had to be just like every preppy girl at that forsaken high school. Why would you choose them out of everyone?

You shook his hand, smiling softly as his brown eyes smiled back. “And I’m Dustin!” Your eyes widened as the curly, short haired boy shoved Eddie’s hand out of yours, grasping your own tightly.

“Hi, Dustin.” You kept in your chuckle.

“And I’m Mike!”

Eddie rolled his eyes as everyone about the table took their sweet time with shaking your hand, marveling at the fact they were touching a girls hand. “You guys are very welcoming.” You tucked a hair behind your ear. “But please, don’t let me interrupt, just ignore me.” You smiled, picking up your jelly sandwich.

You were mid-chew, staring down at your hands as the loud chatter of the cafeteria flooded your ear. You glanced up and froze, everyone’s eyes on you. You gulped.

Gareth and Jeff’s mouth’s hung open, faces pressed into their hands as they stared at you. Dustin thought you were cutest thing he’d ever laid eyes on, even more so than Madonna. And Eddie, dear god, was practically drooling at the mouth. He looked like a damn cartoon character with hearts for eyes, watching you as you grew red. There was something so- innocent about you, youthful. You had no idea how hated they were at that school.

“Uh,” You placed down the sandwich. “You want some?” Your words muffled from your mouthful, and Eddie chuckled, everyone else doing the same.

“We’re just waiting for the punchline, sweetheart.” Eddie kicked back in his chair, stretching his arms out. “You see, your with the freaks of Hawkins High. The devil worshipers.”

“See!” Dustin pushed out his chest, pointing to his hellfire shirt.

“Yeah, I saw that.” You nodded.

“And it didn’t scare you?” Eddie raised a brow, poking at the devil on his chest. “This guy?”

You were confused, glancing at everyone around the table. “No? I mean, it’s mostly why I came over here. I haven’t ever heard of that club before.”

“That’s not surprising,” He popped his chair back down, smiling at your confusion. “Ever heard of dnd? Dungeons and Dragons?”

“No, I don’t think so.” You answered.

He nodded. “I figured not. Sweet little girl like you wouldn’t mix herself with the likes of such.”

It almost disappointed him, because he’d already placed you up among the crowd, with the preppy’s and cheerleaders.

“Well, are you going to tell me what it is?” You said softly, watching as his eyes grew hopeful.

“It’s a fantasy role playing game!” Dustin intervened, moving around the table to sit beside you, ignoring the way Eddie grew annoyed. “There’s wizards and warlocks, druids and rogues. And there’s a dice you roll that determines what happens to your character!”

You sat and listened as he listed the game, trying to collect every piece of information he gave you. Eddie wanted to send him to the moon. “Are there elves?” You tried to contribute.

Now that, got Eddie’s attention, at the mere fact you were at least somewhat interested.

“Yeah, there’s elves.” He beat dustin to the punchline, scooting upward as he leaned closer to you. “Really, you can be anything you want to be.”

“What about princess’s?” You chuckled, causing everyone else to do so. Eddie snickered, looking down as he nodded. “Sure thing.”

“Well, it sounds fun.” You shrugged your shoulder. “I don’t get why you’re made fun of for liking a cool game. I’d play if I knew how.” You said the last part mostly to yourself, but the metalhead’s interest was peaked.

He glanced at his sheep, having silent communication about the decision. Girls did not play dungeons and dragons. Girls did not hang out with hellfire club. Girls did not make Eddie Munsons heart soar, only his sweet guitar did.

“You could play with us, if you wanted.” Eddie said, resting his chin against his fist, speaking cautiously. “We’re actually one man short tonight. We play right here at the school.”

His eyes bore into yours, and it gave you a moment to actually take in his appearance. His eyes were beautiful, big and full of excitement. His hair was wild and free, his body adorned in shiny jewelry. He looked the part of an outcast, but the invitation was not something you wanted to pass up.

“I’d need you to teach me.” You smiled awkwardly.

“And I’m,” He leaned in closer, smirking at you mischievously. “A very good teacher.”

The bell rang across the cafeteria, but his eyes remained non yours. You breathed out in excitement, looking at everyone’s shocked faces. “Well, I guess I’ll see you gentlemen tonight then.” You stood, Eddie smirking as he followed form.

“See you then, princess.” He shouted, and you giggled as you waved them goodbye.

He crossed his arms, kicking back into his chair as he watched you walk out of the room. He finally looked to his friends. “What?” He noticed their stares.

“That’s not fair, Eddie!” Dustin complained. “I wanted to invite her! I called dibs!”

“No, you didn’t.” Eddie snorted, standing up. “Besides, this one’s special, boys.” He found you again, staring at your back.

“Why?” Mike groaned.

He swallowed at your bouncing curls, and he knew you were going to disrupt his simple little life. “I think I’m in love.”

Willow’s Masterlist

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Thoughts and feelings on volume 2

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ROBIN, STEVE & EDDIE — S04E08: Chapter Eight “Papa”, Stranger Things (2016-)